


Serendipitous

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Auto Shop, Angst and Humor, Castiel is Claire Novak's Parent, First Meetings, Fluff, Grieving Dean, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mechanic Castiel, Reverse Tropes, Single Parent Castiel, Spelling & Grammar, Stressed Dean, Teacher Dean, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i'm so sorry sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 14:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7805575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you know how to spell liability?”</p><p>“Lie without the ‘e’ and ability, as in your ability to make me completely forget what I was doing,” Cas replies without missing a beat. </p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay. It’s not every day I get really attractive customers.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serendipitous

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Did Someone Say Cockpit?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7726519) by [rosie_berber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosie_berber/pseuds/rosie_berber). 



> Inspired by rosie_berber's fic with reverse tropes. I think I enjoy the idea of Cas in a jumpsuit more than Dean.
> 
> Also, I know little about cars. Hopefully it doesn't reflect too much. Cx

 

_Serendipitous/adj: occurring or discovered by chance in a happy or beneficial way._

 

Dean should have known toy green soldiers aren’t meant to be shoved in anywhere other than a child’s nose.

The hard part of this costly mistake isn’t disclosing the sentimental value Dean has for toy green soldiers previously lying dormant in the ’67 Chevy Impala’s busted ashtray, but _disclosing the sentimental value Dean has for toy green soldiers_ to a perfectly good stranger and how it caused his entire gear shift to stick.

This is a problem that could very well have been avoided had Sam taken out the damn things thirty years ago. Then again, maybe it’s Dean’s fault for not taking them out himself, since it’s his car.

It’s a hobby of his. Some people paint, play piano, bocce; Dean shoves blame. When Sam died, Dean blamed the alcohol, then genetics, their father, and eventually, God, for allowing the overdose.

Maybe this whole time it was Dean’s fault. After all, it was his responsibility to look after his little brother.

Dean barely makes it to the nearest mechanic. With every pencil-pushing muscle in his body (because that’s the only object he ever _lifts),_ he grips the shift and pushes upwards towards Park. He taps the dashboard with a kiss planted inside his palm when he feels the car stop moving before flipping the key.

“Excuse me?” Dean asks. The garage is open, the metal racks proudly displaying a Mustang, a Jeep Cherokee, a Dodge Durango, and… a Continental Mark V? Those things are notorious Pimpmobiles. And gas eaters, no less. Dean’s father’s a mechanic, so is his Uncle Bobby in Sioux Falls. One could argue it’s the family business. Dean’s not said “one” to argue anything when the only thing he works under is pressure and deadlines.

“Can I help you?” a man asks, coming through the back door. His voice is deep and raspy, like sandpaper rubbing against an old sidewalk. He has the kind of eyes sailors float on, hair as floppy and dirty as a brown snapper’s fin, and plush, pink lips made for swallowing sins. ( _Deadliest Catch_ marathon _.)_ Judging by the greasy blue jumpsuit that frames his firm ass when he bends down to retrieve his rag, he’s the guy to talk to.

 _Castiel,_ it reads on his tag. Odd name, but he’s not going to place any judgments on a guy who could cut his breaks. “Hi, uhm, Casty-Caustee—”

“Just call me Cas,” the mechanic, Cas, says. “I would lend out my hand, but…” Grease. Right.

“No problem, I’m actually in a hurry anyway. Listen, my car’s hurting bad right now. Her gear shift is sticking. I just need a temporary fix to get to work. I’ll pay whatever cost.”

“I follow. Unfortunately, I can’t offer any temporaries, but I can fix… _her_ … up for you right here.” Cas’s lips curve into a half-gummy smile. “Does a half hour put you behind much?”

“I said I was in a hurry, didn’t I?”

Cas bites his lip. “Uh… yeah, sorry—”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Dean amends, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh, “A half hour is perfect. Do you mind if I hang here in the meantime to grade some papers? I’m behind on my _own_ deadlines.”

Cas eases into a chuckle, “Not a problem. There’s a table in the back I use as a workstation sometimes. You’re my only client until nine, so have at it.”

Dean nods awkwardly. “Cool. Sorry, again. My name’s Dean, by the way.”

“I understand,” Cas assures. “Do you teach at Ferguson Elementary, by chance?”

“I do.”

Cas nods. With a smile, rolls up his sleeves, exposing his forearms and _Jesus_ , Dean shouldn’t have skipped out on TLC and Vitamin D when he was younger. “My daughter Claire always pushes me out the door for school, so I only assume it’s because of the amazing teachers.” Then there’s a smile. A wide gummy smile.

Dean flushes and trips over something large and oily, sending stains flying onto his jeans, but he can’t find the will to notice or care with that smile. “I’m, uh, gonna go get my stuff.”

“You do that,” Cas laughs and tosses him a wink after saying: “I’ll pull it in for you when you’re ready.”

***

Fortunately, Cas doesn’t ask about the toy green soldiers. He just brings up the topic of kids after taking apart the gear shift; his calloused, but slender fingers working into the trenches of the wiring. Under, over, under, over. Dean can’t physically see him pull the buggers out, but he’s not complaining because the thing blocking his vision is Cas’s geographically symmetrical ass.

Dean doesn’t realize his red pen’s sliding off the page he’s grading until he clears his throat, “Uh, no, I don’t have any. Kids, I mean.” He pauses, biting his lip, debating. “The toy soldiers were my little brother’s.”

He hears Cas stop rummaging in the front seat for a moment. “Oh. Were you two close growing up?”

“We were, yeah. He passed away a few years ago.”

Cas peels himself back from the car completely to sit upright on the leather front seat like a banana peel turned upside down in the middle of the road. Pity drips from his eyelids and onto his lips. “I’m sorry.”

Dean shrugs and turns back to the desk, scribbling out a red mark on a correct answer. “It’s not your fault.” He holds his pen an inch above the paper for a second, head curling. “Do you know how to spell liability?”

“Lie without the ‘e’ and ability, as in your ability to make me completely forget what I was doing,” Cas replies without missing a beat.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s not every day I get really attractive customers.”

Dean’s mouth flops open. Luckily, he skipped his morning coffee or his papers would be _drenched._ “Oh, um…”

“Sorry,” Cas corrects, scratching his neck. “I get it if you’re not—if I made you feel—”

“Really good for the first time in a long time?”

Cas’s lips part as Dean’s curve into a smile. “Oh,” he says, red painting his face. “Okay then.”

They don’t say anything for a while, but it’s a comfortable silence. Dean gets through half his stack when Cas pokes through the front door again like a prairie dog from its hole, a triumphant smile on his face. “All set.”

“Seriously?” Dean asks, glancing at his watch as he gathers his things, much to his regret. “With five minutes to spare too. How much do I owe you?”

Cas hops out of the door and wipes his hands on his suit with a shrug. “On the house.”

“What? No, I couldn’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Cas reassures, leaning forward on his desk. “That is, if you accompany me to dinner tonight.”

“Oh, I get it. I get out of paying my car, but I’m paying dinner.”

“More or less,” Cas replies, grinning as he holds out a finger. “It better be a fancy restaurant too.”

Dean stifles a laugh, “Alright. You have a deal,” he says, lending out his hand for an overly formal shake, which Cas accepts, then, playfully, adds: “word nerd.”

“Laugh it up all you want, but I was one word away from going to Washington State.”

“What was the word?”

Cas’s eyes fall on Dean’s lips in responding, “ _Serendipitous.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
